Therinkisacold, sharp bite against my skin, the kind of air that cuts into your lungs when you pull it in too fast. My skates grip the ice, and every stride feels like punishment—me against the boards, me against the sound of blades scraping and sticks slapping. I can hear Coach barking at us from the bench, his voice grating over the hum of the arena lights.
The first guy comes at me with the puck, and I don’t even think. My body lowers, shoulders squared, and I check him so hard against the glass the whole board rattles. His grunt of pain echoes, and I push past him, grabbing the puck like it’s mine by right.
“Jesus, Miles,” someone mutters, but I don’t stop.
Another shift, another body. Every single one of them feels like they deserve it, and I’m more than willing to deliver. It’s notpractice anymore—it’s war. And every bastard in front of me is the enemy.
Out of the corner of my eye, movement pulls me, distracts me, and the blonde hair immediately catches my attention. Chloe Ashford. Here. Why? Bella and a few others sit next to her, all bright smiles and confidence, tossing her hair around. And Chloe—fuck—she’s different. She’s not smiling, not flipping her hair like the rest of them. She’s sitting quiet, focused, watching us like she’s trying to figure out how it all works. Her legs crossed, hands wrapped tight around a coffee cup, lips pursed just enough to drive me insane.
And my chest tightens.
“Thatcher!” Coach’s voice slices across the rink. “Get your head in the game, son. Focus!”
I grunt, pretending like I didn’t hear him, but I did. And it pisses me off even more.
Jamie skates up beside me, his stick dragging over the ice, his usual smirk tugging at his mouth. “The hell’s your problem?”
“Stay out of it,” I snap, not even looking at him.
Jamie skates right in front of me, forcing me to slow down. “Seriously. What’s going on? You’re gonna end up sending one of our own to the hospital, and then Coach will have your ass. Spill it.”
I exhale hard, dragging my glove over my mouth cage. “It’s her.”
Jamie follows my gaze, his smirk widening when he spots the girls in the bleachers. “Who, Bella? Don’t tell me you finally fell for a cheerleader. I mean, I get it. The skirt thing, the—”
“Not Bella.” My voice is sharp, cutting him off.
He pauses, eyes narrowing. “The new one?”
I don’t answer, which is answer enough.
Jamie’s grin fades, replaced with a flicker of curiosity. “Seriously, Miles. What the hell is it with that girl? You’ve been wound tight since yesterday. You gotta tell me what’s going on because right now you’re skating like you’ve got a death wish.”
Before I can reply, the whistle blows, pulling us back into drills.
The next twenty minutes are a blur of motion—passes, shots, checks. My body’s on autopilot, but my brain is a mess. Every glance toward the stands drags me back to Chloe. Her wide eyes track us across the ice, and I swear she flinches when I slam another guy against the boards.
“What the hell, Miles!” one of the defensemen snaps after I nearly take his head off.
“Shut up and skate,” I bark.
Coach doesn’t even hide his frustration. “Knock it off, Thatcher! This is practice, not a goddamn brawl.”
But the anger won’t go. It festers, boiling under my skin.
One of the guys—Hunter, our second line forward—grins like he’s about to chirp me. He makes a slick comment under his breath, something about me needing to get laid, about the way Bella’s looking at me from the stands. And then he adds inthe blonde with the tits, low, casual.
I don’t remember making the decision. One second he’s skating past me, and the next my glove is fisted in his jersey, yanking him down hard. My fist connects with his jaw, the crunch satisfying in a way that makes my stomach twist. He shouts, tries to shove back, but I’m already on him, driving punch after punch into his face, into his ribs, into anything I can reach.
The ice under us is slick with the scrape of our skates as we wrestle, his shouts muffled under the crack of my knuckles.
“Thatcher! Enough!” Coach’s voice booms, but it doesn’t register.
“Get the fuck off me!” Hunter snarls, but I’m lost in it.
Then strong arms wrap around me, hauling me back. “Miles! Enough!” Jamie’s voice, close to my ear, breath ragged as he drags me off the guy. I’m still straining against him, chest heaving, fists aching for more.
The whistle blows again, sharp and furious. “Everyone take ten. Now!” Coach bellows.
